


Civilian

by SopranoSunshine



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Negan Being Negan (Walking Dead), Original Character(s), Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Top Negan (Walking Dead)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-02-12 23:07:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12970416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SopranoSunshine/pseuds/SopranoSunshine
Summary: When you accidentally stumble onto Sanctuary territory, Negan takes you prisoner to ensure your arrival is purely coincidental. When no one from your group shows up, you end up becoming a citizen of the sanctuary and realizing just how dark your new leader truly is.





	1. Prologue/Chapter 1: Darness

**Prologue**  
  
  
Shit. You’d managed to royally fuck up, seemingly out of nowhere this time.

You watched with downcast eyes as a leather clad man walked circles around you, his barbed wire-wrapped bat dragging behind his tall figure in the dirt. The hot Virginia sun above you combined with the multiple sets of eyes on you from all angles caused sweat to drip from your forehead.

“Well, well, well. What in the fuck do we have here?” You didn’t have to look up to know there was a smile in the words. His voice was deep and lilted, and absolutely terrifying.

You knew you should have replied, but it felt like there was cotton clogging your throat. You could hardly think, let alone speak. Men and women head to toe in black, covered in weaponry, pointed guns and knives your direction. Any one of them could shoot or step forward in the blink of an eye, but the source of your current horror was the man with the salt and pepper beard sauntering around the perimeter of your personal space. You didn’t dare bring your eyes up to meet his. The cold chill he induced flooded over your entire body and was enough to make you forget about the small crowd of his followers. Despite the fact that their vehement hostility toward you was almost palpable in the air, all you could focus on was him. All your instincts hinted that he was the greatest threat here. And your instincts were correct.

Your heart beat loudly in your ears, fluttering and pounding so hard you almost didn’t catch the next words out of the man’s mouth.

“I’m gonna need you to speak when you’re spoken to, darlin.’ You gotta have quite the set of balls on you to walk onto Sanctuary territory alone and uninvited.” His voice was melodic and low, and you would have thought it was beautiful under any other circumstance. But right now, with the looming threat of death over your head, it was damned petrifying.

“I-” You had to stop to clear your throat before continuing, “I didn’t know. Honest.”

“What are you doin’ here, sweetheart?” If you didn’t know better, you would have found his soft words comforting.

You shook your head without missing a beat. “Nothing. I swear. I got seperated from my group about an hour ago and I just...this is where I ended up. I’m sorry.”

Watching as his black leather boots paced in front of you, you realized not a speck of dirt marred their perfect shine. This man was important.

“Do you know what I think?!” His voice boomed, the sudden increase in volume making you flinch. Unsure if he was addressing you or the crowd around the two of you, you decided it was best you stayed quiet, continuing to study the lines in the dirt and gravel his bat had made.

“I think one of my groups’ leaders have sent you here, thinking I wouldn’t see a pretty little thing like you as a threat, in a piss-poor attempt to gain information from us. Although I have to hand it to them, finding the place is quite the accomplishment in itself.” A few of his men chuckled. He was making jokes.

“That’s not it.” Your voice cracked, but you continued, “There’s not many of us. We don’t even have a name or a leader, and no one sent me here for anything. I got lost.”

Everyone, including the man in front of you, was quiet for a few seconds. You were sincere. You had been edging toward a panic attack before you’d stumbled into the biter-infested courtyard of a factory. You were crying, scared; you hadn’t been alone since before. You had always been with the group you’d strayed from. There really weren’t many of you - maybe 30 or 40 citizens, give or take - and although you survived fine, your group was small. It was a democracy, and a few of you had leadership roles, but no one was leading. You simply wandered off, had been left behind, and no one had put you up to this.

One of the man’s gloved hands rose up toward you and he tugged you up by your chin, forcing you to finally look up into his deep honey eyes. Fighting the urge to pull away, you winced, desperate to stop shaking. He was beautiful and intimidating all at once. You didn’t think you would make it out of this, and an intrusive thought made its way into your mind; dying at the hand of this man would be a hell of a lot better than dying alone from a walker.

“Okay, darlin.’ I believe you.” You let out a quiet sigh, almost a laugh. Unbelievable.

He let go of your jaw, but you kept looking at him, the uncertain danger of eye contact gone. He wanted you to look at him. Gesturing around himself with the baseball bat still in hand, he began to speak again.

“But you see, my men here and my lieutenants inside are a wee bit harder to persuade than I am. So until they’re sure - and I mean really fucking sure - that you’re being genuine, you’re gonna be staying with us for a little while.” Your stomach dropped at the thought of being stuck with this man or his people.

With the upturned curl of two leather-gloved fingers and a snap, one of his huskier followers came forward, attempting to grab you by the arms, but something inside of you had snapped.

“No!” You pushed and kicked at his attempts to grab your arms, and the man with the bat actually started laughing. Another large man stepped forward to help restrain you, and although you were trying your damnedest to hurt or injure one of them, they were too strong together. You finally stopped, breathing heavily at this point.

“Looks like we got us a fighter. Might come in handy if we can get her to cooperate,” The leather-gloved man pointed to the men who held you in place.  
“Take her to the cells.” You wanted to ask why. You hadn’t done anything wrong. Not purposely, anyway. Your group needed you. You should have been finding your way back. Would they come looking for you? They might be mad if you didn’t try to come home. Despite everything, something told you protesting would be a waste of breath, so you didn’t fight or resist. Sneaking away silently at a future point in time seemed like a better idea with this crowd.

The burly men pulled you across the gravel courtyard as workers in grey sweatsuits cleared a pathway through the chained-up living dead. You wondered why anyone would keep the creatures around longer than they had to, but you pieced together that maybe they served as warnings to anyone trying to get in unauthorized. That would certainly explain why they were so livid that you’d found the place by mistake.

The man in leather moved ahead of the men who had firm hold of your arms, his wire-wrapped bat thrown over his shoulder. After leading you up a flight of concrete stairs and through a set of metal-plated doors, you and the man with the bat headed in opposite directions. You were escorted toward your left, down a long, cold hallway. Metal grid walls, concrete floors, and pipes were all that surrounded you. It all made you feel unnatural and out of place, in a way you hadn’t felt since before the dead began to walk.

“Welcome to The Sanctuary.” A man you hadn’t seen before was waiting at the end of the expansive corridor, and he suddenly stepped toward you. He was balding slightly, with a dark mustache and two guns hanging off of his belt.

“My name’s Simon. That there was our fearless leader. Negan.” He addressed the men holding you.

“You can let her go, boys. Thanks for your help.” He seemed polite enough, and the men listened to him even though they both could have easily overpowered someone as lean as he was. Simon must have been important, too. He didn’t trust you, though, as he took one of the men’s place, holding your arm just below your bicep. When Simon drug you toward the open door to your cell, you saw how barren the room you’d be trapped in was, and thoughts of being locked in the dark started to make you panic. Your breathing grew heavy, but you had decided earlier that you weren’t going to put up a fight. Maybe the sooner they saw you weren’t here to gain anything, the sooner they’d stop treating you like a criminal.

You were pushed into the cell, your hands scraping against the back wall as you stopped yourself from falling on the cold flooring. The cell was completely empty, not even so much as a pillow or blanket. Four walls, a ceiling, and the floor under your feet. You slid down one wall gently, sitting in the floor and positioning yourself to lean against another wall.

Simon gestured around the room. “This is all you know until further notice. The dark and the concrete. We bring you water.”

You nodded slowly, attempting to relax into the cold walls at your back, side, and underneath you. Simon hesitated, almost like he felt guilty for leaving you there, but after a few seconds, he finally shut the door. A lock clicked into place on the other side and it caused a shiver to ripple up your spine. The dim lighting that had been present before had left with Simon. The only trace of light you saw came from a crack underneath the door to your cell, only about half an inch thick if you had to guess. You stared out at the opposite side of the room, into darkness. Waiting.  
  
  
  
  
 **Chapter 1: Darkness**

The darkness wasn’t terrible at first. Spending most of every day in the scalding Virginian sun actually made you feel calmer in the dark, and this cell was no exception - after the impending panic attack had subsided, of course. You could still feel your heart beating steadily, your respirations coming at a quickened pace still yet. But after a few hours, the initial panic was fading. You were safe from walkers here. There was only one exit. You didn’t have to face the dangers of scavenging or being outside unprotected. Your fear was no longer sourced from your solitude; now it came from the thoughts of what would happen after your time here. Would that man, Negan, kill you on the spot? Would he let you leave? You thought again about how lean he was and how easy it would have been for any of his followers to take power from him. Why did they follow the older man so loyally? Were there any more followers you’d yet to see?

Questions built up in your mind that might not ever be answered, and in an attempt to distract yourself, you began to count the seconds - and then minutes - ticking by. Sixty seconds. One minute, two minutes, five, ten, fifteen. You stopped when you got to twenty-three, deciding that counting time was making you anxious all over again. You lost track of how much time you had spent in the cell. It felt like days, but no one had brought you anything so you knew that couldn’t be the case. You slid yourself down into the floor, your cheek resting on the frigid concrete, so that you could peak outside from the small slit of light under the door. You were disappointed as your eyes met with another concrete wall across the corridor. You knew what the place looked like before you had been confined to the cell, so you weren’t sure what you were expecting to see. Feet maybe, but with the amount of locks you were willing to bet were on the door, there was likely no need to guard you so closely. You were definitely alone. 

You turned onto your back and attempted to fall asleep several times, but anxiety and worry tormented you, making it impossible to relax. You finally settled your back into the corner, facing the door and waiting. You wondered if anyone from your community would come looking for you. What would Negan and his followers do to them if they did? You vividly remembered the barbed wire glistening in the sunlight, wrapped tightly around his bat. It was ominous, certainly, but maybe just an intimidation tactic. Surely he would question your people before acting. 

What worried you most was how you’d landed yourself in a cell over something as insignificant as the location of their community. Negan had said something about information, and that had sparked your curiosity. Maybe this group had a doctor or scientist that had vital knowledge about what had caused the dead to walk. You knew it was only wishful thinking, but a part of you had always held onto the possibility of a cure or antidote. Not having to see anyone else die or rot away to this damned disease? That would be all you could ever hope for. Before the end of the world, you had been a nurse. Wanting to help people had become second nature to you; it was what you were good at. When hell broke loose and you managed to escape the hospital you’d worked in, you holed up in your hometown for quite some time, collecting medical supplies and patching up people who’d been hurt. When your supplies dwindled down and most of your friends had departed to find their own families, you had been forced to leave for somewhere safer, with more supplies and food sources. Stumbling into a couple of kind people had been sheer luck, and you’d been with them ever since. Your role in your community was similar to your job before; you’d put dressings on everyone’s injuries, make sure they were eating okay, give what medicines you could, and monitor people feeling unwell mentally or physically. It’s what your mind kept lingering on: you could be killed or kept here, and that meant the people back home were going without medical care. 

You barely noticed the sound of heavy, slow footsteps, before a voice cried out, “WHEN I GET OUT, I’LL KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU.” Huffing breaths and then a shrill yell kicked you out of your thoughts; a man’s voice a couple cells down, it sounded like. 

With that, your calm demeanor disappeared. You felt yourself shiver at the echo of his deep voice against the steel and concrete corridor. He started to punch the door with his fists; flat, hard beats of flesh against the hard surface permeated the air, making you feel queasy. Your sanity was already stretched thin, a tightrope you’d been desperately clinging to balance on since you’d lost your group. Another man began shouting and you realized you were surrounded by prisoners, mad ones judging by the sound of their clamoring. Whoever’s footsteps triggered the men’s outburst began to grow louder. You expected to hear Negan’s dark timbre, but it was Simon’s loud voice that rang out.

“You all had better pipe the fuck down. I’d hate to have to tell Negan there’s an uprising in the holding cells.”   
  
At the mention of Negan, the yells quietened into mumbles, and then silence. Simon’s boots grew louder still, and you scooted yourself up, as close to the walls in the corner as you could physically get. Three audible locks clicked before light flooded the cell, burning your vision. You raised your hands up to shade your face, shielding your eyes from the brightness. Simon knelt down in the doorway and addressed you, his voice quickly transformed from crass to serene. 

“Okay, Doll. It’s been decided that your group isn’t coming for you, since it’s nightfall already and they would have to be suicidal or just plain stupid to go out in the dark.”   
  
Your mouth was dry and your voice scratchy, but you’d managed to speak up, “I told you. I’m not trying to pull anything. I’ve never heard of this community.”

Simon nodded, “I know. But Negan’s got a lot of responsibility to keep the people here safe. And he doesn’t trust easily. None of us do. But he does have a soft spot for women. So I’ve been instructed to take you to the regular living quarters and make you a bit more comfortable. Let you get a few solid hours of sleep. Then he’ll talk with you and decide what happens next in the morning.”

Out of all the scenarios you’d imagined in your head - being beaten to death, thrown out into the darkness to become walker food, kept here until you rotted away - this had not been one of them. 

“You’re not going to kill me?”   
  
Simon laughed, “No. We might not be conventionally nice people, who is these days? But we aren’t evil either. Come on.” 

He held a hand out to you and you hesitated. Should you really trust this man? You once again decided you didn’t have any other option at this point, and being anywhere other than this cell sounded great. If this was a trick or he was leading you to your death, at least you’d know soon. He helped you to stand; your legs shaky from lack of use all day. Once you had your balance, he pulled a pair of silver handcuffs from his belt.    
  
“Sorry, kid.” He motioned for you to turn around. 

You didn’t put up a fight, and let him handcuff your hands behind your back. 

After your hands were secure, you walked alongside him, back out the way you’d come, and up a flight of industrial metal stairs. He led you down another hallway and through a pair of double doors, into what seemed to be an indoor flea market. There were various vendors, selling everything and anything imaginable. As you walked beside him, Simon continued explaining. 

“This is our marketplace. Most of our people live on a system of points. Scavenging, going on missions, working, doing favors for Negan, all of that earns points. You can barter belongings, or use your points to buy things. Various foodstuffs, handmade clothes or blankets, weapons, room items, jewelry. It’s endless.” 

Simon picked up a black crocheted blanket, a tank top, knitted shorts, a pair of dark jeans, a black tee shirt, and a few small soap bars as he walked you around the huge room. When he reached an end table near the door, a woman in a teal headscarf sat with a few notebooks and pens, holding one of the writing utensils out for him. 

“Our form of “paying” for our goods,” he explained. When the woman looked up to see that it was Simon, she scribbled in the book herself and gave him a small smile before the two of you left the pay table. 

Your curious expression did not go unnoticed by Simon, and he explained as he came to a stop. “A select few of us are exempt from the point system. We still have other rules to follow of course, but a few perks aren’t bad.”

You nodded, mentally questioning what an individual had to do to be an exception to the point system. You weren't entirely sure you wanted to know.

As you and Simon approached the same set of doors you’d entered moments ago, you noticed a woman leaning against the paneling, her arms crossed. Simon motioned her over and she pulled herself away from the wall, making her way over to you. She had her hair twisted into a blonde bun, a obsidian-toned tattoo contrasting the ivory skin on her neck, and a golden hoop nose ring on the left side of her nose. 

“This is Laura.” Simon introduced her. You told her your name as well, out of respect, and she nodded.

“Laura’s going to give you the rest of the tour and make sure you get a hot shower and some food.”   
  
Food was great, but the thought of hot water was better. You were sure running hot water was a luxury of the past, something that would be a mere story to tell future generations. Remembering what it was like to come home after a long night at work, standing bare under a hot stream of water cascading over you; it made your muscles tremble at the thought. 

“That sounds amazing. Hot water.”

Laura chuckled a bit at your reaction. “Oh, trust me it is.” 

Simon handed the items he’d bought to Laura, and clapped his hand on your shoulder. “I have to get going, but Laura will take good care of you. See you tomorrow.” 

His touch made you flinch. Hours earlier, you’d watched their leader swing his bat around, threatening you. Fellow community members pointed guns and knives of all imaginable varieties at you, they’d shoved you into a cell like you’d murdered a handful of small children, and now he was fucking Mr. Rogers-level friendly. You felt the aforementioned tightrope of sanity you were still balancing on shrinking thinner.

Laura showed you a few more essential areas of the community; the latrines, the showers, the cafeteria, and a few of the living quarters. She’d said that was all she was permitted to show you for now, and when she offered for you to finally go grab a shower, she followed you. Not into the stall, thank God, but she removed your handcuffs and stood right outside, preventing you from escaping or wandering off on your own. As you stood under the near-scalding spray of water, you contemplated everything that had happened so far. These people seemed nice enough; after the threats, the barbed-wire bat, and the cell. They weren’t torturing or raping or slicing you to pieces. You hadn’t seen any vendors selling human body parts for soup. But it was blatantly obvious that they still didn’t trust you. And maybe it was wrong, but that just made you want to investigate this place further. There was bound to be something shady going on, or something of utmost importance that needed protecting. Simon had said it himself; Negan had a huge responsibility to protect the Sanctuary. And you couldn’t help but linger on  _why._

After you finally left the shower, Laura escorted you to the cafeteria and sat with you as you ate your meal; a leafy green salad and a marinara-smothered pasta that you couldn’t remember the name of. Cellentani? Cavatappi maybe? It didn’t matter now. Pasta was easy to make in large quantities and it had been one of your favorite meals before the end had come; you weren’t going to complain about it. You didn’t know if you were hungry or if the food was just incredible, but it made your mouth water and you didn’t think you could eat another bite once you had finished. Laura tried to make small talk, and you hadn’t been rude, but stuffing your face with pasta made it surprisingly difficult to carry on a conversation. 

The place wasn’t nearly as crowded as it had been at the marketplace, and you surmised that it was getting late. Candles and low-energy lamps lit the corridors now, as the sun was absent in all of the large windows. The main area with the stairwells had previously been brightly shining with abundant amounts of sun whenever the men had brought you to your cell. Laura had recuffed you and led you through the dimly-lit halls to one of the living quarter rooms. It held two bunk beds, a full-size bed, and two floor cots. Three of the bunks were taken, and there were two people asleep in the full sized bed. Laura took your cuffs off again, handed you the items from earlier, and pointed to one of the floor cots and the small cubby area near the doorway you were currently standing in. 

“Your stuff will be safe here. Try to get some sleep. Who knows what Negan will decide for you tomorrow.” You could tell she wasn’t trying to intimidate you on purpose, she seemed like a blunt, matter-of-fact kind of person. It still bothered you nonetheless. 

When you changed into the tank top and shorts Simon had given you, stored your few belongings away, and started to try to get comfortable in the floor, you noticed Laura kept standing.

“You aren’t sleeping?” You asked, hushed so as not to wake anyone. 

Grinning, she whispered, “I’m on guard duty for another four hours.” 

She stepped outside the door, leaning against the wall outside of your room. They truly didn’t trust you not to escape. You didn’t really fault them for that though, because if given the opportunity, you couldn’t truthfully say you wouldn’t at least attempt to leave. Covering yourself up with the blanket Simon had given you, you adjusted onto your stomach and attempted to fall to sleep. Tomorrow morning was a mystery looming over your head like a storm cloud. You could be thrown out, defenseless. You could be kept captive. Hell, Negan could have you shot or stabbed to death by his bandwagon of followers. The worries were endless and daunting. What if someone back home was sick or injured and needed you? Would the group be out looking for you in the dark? They had more sense than that. You’d hoped so, at least. Would they think you left on purpose? Maybe they would be angry with you. Maybe no one would ever come looking for you. The nurse who left them all without any medical support, left them to die. You groaned, pulling your arms up over your head and ears, attempting to drown out the sounds of your own suffocating thoughts. After about fifteen minutes, the exhaustion in your bones finally caught up to you, and although your relentless thoughts never ceased to bombard your mind, you finally dozed off.

* * *

 

“Get up.” Unsure of exactly how much sleep you’d managed to get, you were suddenly being shaken awake. It wasn’t Laura standing above you this time; it was a man you recognized from your encounter early the day before. You couldn’t remember where he’d been standing, but he’d been pointing a weapon at you, that part was vibrant in your mind. You sat up, wiping sleep from your eyes and pushing your still-damp hair out of your face. 

“Is something wrong?” It had to be early. Looking beyond him and into the hallway, the lamps were still lit. The sun hadn’t risen yet.    
  
“...Negan wants to see you.” The thought of the older man made your stomach drop. This was it. Your entire future - how much longer you lived, if truth be told - dependant on a conversation you were seconds away from having. You stood and dressed in the jeans Simon had gifted you. Pulling your boots on, you left everything else in the cubby area. You stretched the sleep from your muscles before nodding to the man who’d interrupted your dreamless slumber. He cuffed you yet again, and turned to walk down the hallway, you following reluctantly on his heels. He didn’t speak at all, and you couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. The two of you walked up a second flight of stairs and down another corridor. Their distrust of you was good in one respect; with people escorting you everywhere, you couldn’t get lost. A likely possibility when every floor looked the same to you: all concrete and metal. The place reminded you of a prison, and it wasn’t just the cells on the bottom floor. The layout was all very similar. You assumed the building had been a mill or factory of some sort, but you had no clue as to what they would have made here. 

Traversing one winding hallway after another, you finally arrived at your destination. The man you followed stood back as he opened a plain-looking door, the light eggshell paint on it chipping off at the edges. There was a long table in the middle of the room, and two lights hanging overhead, dimly lighting the place. Negan sat at the head of the table, in his same leather jacket from yesterday. His inky black hair was slicked back in perfect contrast to the surprisingly bright material of his white shirt. The bat was lying ominously on the table in front of him, and when you looked up to briefly meet his eyes, he was grinning at you.

“Long time, no see.” His voice echoed in the room and you could feel your heartbeats speeding up in your chest. The man who had led you here pushed you further into the room, before stepping in and closing the door behind himself. He approached Negan, holding out a key for what you guessed could only be your handcuffs. Negan palmed the tiny silver key, and the guard turned to leave. The door had quickly closed again, punctuating the fact that you were now utterly alone with the leader of the people who’d turned at least a dozen guns on you yesterday. Alone and at a disadvantage, the cuffs biting into the skin of your wrists as a reminder.

“So your people didn’t show up last night. What are we gonna do with you now?” 


	2. Sanctuary

His words rang in your ears, their echo lasting what felt like minutes on end, “What are we gonna do with you now?”

 

You continued to avoid his eyes, not fully understanding why. Looking away was a compulsion, an urge you felt safe succumbing to. Meeting his eyes was too much. He was still intimidating as all hell, but at least this way you didn’t stutter when you spoke. 

 

That same cottonmouth feeling grew behind your lips and you didn’t know if it was wise to speak or not. You shrugged your shoulders slowly, as much as you could with your hands still handcuffed behind your back. 

 

“Tell me what you did for your community.” He wasn’t asking, either. His words were an order instead of a question; an order you readily followed. 

 

“I worked as a nurse. We didn’t have many medical supplies, so that would be my job when we scavenged. I patched people up, gave them what medicines we had.” 

 

Your voice was quiet, shaking, and significantly less confident than it had sounded in your mind. 

 

He listened, tilting his head. You turned your eyes toward his general direction, worried he would think you were being rude for not looking at him. 

 

“That what you did before?”

 

You knew he meant before the end of the world, and it sent a shiver through you when you thought about how long ago that was and how far you’d come. Your family and friends. Residents. Patients. Thoughts of  _ before _ flooded your mind as the events of the previous day were catching up with you. Normally you would never show any hint of emotion in front of other people, especially not people who had power over you already. But now you couldn’t help the few tears that gathered in your eyes as you stood - handcuffed - in front of your new leader. Unable to wipe them away, you blinked rapidly until they faded from your view. You would not cry in front of him. 

 

“Yes.” Your voice was steadier than ever as you tried your best not to sob. You had thought yesterday was the end, so simply being alive today was a miracle. You weren’t scared, not truly. But being alone with him was too intense. Too much. 

 

You couldn’t gauge his reaction properly; your vision was watery and looking directly at him would only make it worse. You kept telling yourself you would be strong here. Cry all you want later but put a mask on for the time being. 

 

“Well it just so happens that I’ve got an infirmary here. We try to keep it stocked as best as possible, and I’m sure it doesn’t compare to what you’re used to from before, but the world’s in short supply of medical professionals these days. It’d be a hell of a lot better than any of the alternative jobs here, and it’ll earn you more points too.”

 

His voice was sure and soft. You knew he was going easy on you: the people in lock-up had shrunk back like mice when Simon mentioned Negan’s name. You thought back to his hostility, swinging the same bat that was currently lying on the wooden tabletop in front of him. The power he commanded from his people when you first laid eyes on him was unmistakably that of a leader; a commander. He was offering you a job as if it were a choice and you could say no. You blinked until the blur in your field of vision began to subside. You had never been the smartest in your group, but you weren’t fooled easily. You’d deduced enough in your short time at the Sanctuary to know that you were trapped, at least for now. 

 

“Okay,” was your simple reply. You were grateful for his kindness even if he was being facetious with his offering; a nice gesture despite his intent. 

 

“We have a Doctor here, goes by Carson. He’s over the hill and the physical demands of the job are catching up with him, poor bastard. He could always use more help. Someone else to see patients, scavenge for supplies, tend to the wounded. That sound like somethin’ you’d be interested in, darlin’?””

 

It wasn’t going home, but it was  _ something.  _ Something that you would actually enjoy, and how many people found a routine job that they didn’t hate, let alone enjoyed during the apocalypse? Hell, how many people found a community that had prospered this long?

 

“Yes.” You managed to speak again, your voice reasonably louder than before. 

 

Unable to do much else, you slowly shifted back and forth on the balls of your feet. Anything was better than standing still in the silence and feeling the bite of metal against your pulse points. Negan hadn’t said anything else, and when you glanced his direction, his deep brown eyes were already on you. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you waited, feeling as though your near-silent breathing was tremendously loud in the quiet.

 

“Want me to take those off?” He finally spoke, his voice gravel against the smooth echo of the empty room. 

 

“...Please.” You nodded.

 

A smirk spread across the older man’s features as he pushed the bat further away on the tabletop. He adjusted his leather jacket before standing, the pull of his adjustments making his shoulders appear even wider than they had before. It was overawing. 

 

“Look at you; so polite.” He approached you, his boots heavy against the concrete below, and you tried your best to suppress the shiver you felt slowly creeping up the back of your legs.

 

He stepped just out of your sight and grasped the handcuffs firmly, causing the bite of metal to grow sharper. The rough skin of his fingertips brushed against yours only briefly, until you heard a metallic clicking and suddenly your hands were free again. 

 

Negan moved around you again, placing the handcuffs down on the table next to the bat. 

 

“Don’t make me regret that.” He stood to face you now, gazing downward to meet your eyes. You hadn’t thought he could get any more daunting, but you had been wrong. Standing face to face with this man was almost worse than anything you’d faced since the apocalypse started. 

 

“I’m sure Simon’s told you how things work around here and that we have rules. But let me be perfectly clear with you: when you break rules here, the consequences are real. You earn what you take and you’re loyal to the sanctuary. I don’t give a fuck that you’re from somewhere else. As long as you’re under the protection of the Saviors, you’re loyal to them first and foremost. And considering you don’t have the option to leave, your only choice is to be loyal. Now I’m not saying you have to worship the ground beneath their feet. But you will respect them and stay complacent. No rebelling, no uprising. You seem quiet, so I don’t think I’ll have to worry about you, but if the apocalypse has taught me anything it’s to assume the worst and take it from there.”

 

You took in his words as much as possible, nodding as he explained. 

 

“We clear, sweetheart?”

 

Nodding yet again, you chanced looking up into his eyes once more. As they had been before, his honey-tinged eyes were glued to you. 

 

“Yes, sir.” You managed to whisper, tears once again threatening to fall from your eyes. You couldn’t explain it - not fully - but having his tall, dark figure looming over you filled you not only with dread, but with a tinge of something else. The unknown. Fear. Adrenaline. You didn’t question it yet, acting solely on your survival instincts, which told you Negan wanted you quiet and polite. He himself had told you that mere moments before. 

 

“Those manners; Jesus sweetheart, someone raised you right.” The smirk in his voice was audible. 

 

After a few seconds of not saying anything, Negan turned to pick his bat up again, swinging it over his shoulder to rest against the taut fabric of his jacket. 

 

“Let’s get a move on, I’ll show you the infirmary myself.”

 

After following your leather-clad leader down another maze of steps and pipes, you began to recognize a few of your surroundings; the doors from the trading place, the entryway where you first entered the factory, and what you could have sworn was the hallway leading toward lockup. Negan seemed to have led you downward only to march right back up again on the opposite side of the factory. After several more corridors and once you felt like your feet couldn’t carry you any further, Negan stopped abruptly in front of a pair of silver doors. You would have slammed into him had you not been paying attention. 

 

“This, my dear, is probably the closest thing to a hospital any of us sorry bastards will ever see again.”

 

As soon as Negan pushed the shiny doors open, you began to inspect the makeshift hospital behind him. There were cabinets and shelves lining the walls and another door, this time wooden, to your right, next to a large steel trash can. There was a large cabinet filled with supplies on the wall immediately in front of you. There was glass encompassing the front opening, through it you could see gauze, adhesive dressings, ABD pads, alcohol, and betadine.

 

The setup certainly wasn’t ideal compared to the facilities you had worked in before, but considering the current state of the world, the would-be infirmary was impressive. You wondered if that was why Negan was showing it to you himself. Laura had been the one to show you nearly everything the day before, surely she was allowed here. She seemed to be one of the most trusted saviors Negan had from what you’d seen, next to Simon. 

 

“It’s impressive.” Your voice was quiet as you trailed behind Negan; he began walking toward the cabinets and opening them for you to peer in. 

 

You recognized an EKG and sonogram machine immediately. Behind them sat a centrifuge, basic urinalysis machine, and a few battery-operated pulse oximeters. As you moved along, you noticed a few manual blood pressure cuffs and stethoscopes hanging on a hook in the corner. Most of the other drawers held more gauze, bandages, creams and lotions, and tape. 

 

You began examining some of the medications and creams up close, turning them over in your hands. There weren’t many medicines, even for a place as well-off as this. Lost in thought and inspecting labels, you were startled when the door near the cabinet swung open and an older man stepped out. His gray hair was balding, his complexion sallow and his cheeks hollowed. To you, he looked more like he  _ needed _ a doctor than to be one here. Negan had been generous in his description of the doctor. 

 

The man did not seem startled by Negan’s presence; only cautious. You assumed it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. Negan being here. That made you feel better. He hadn’t brought you here himself for any special reason. 

 

“What can I do for you, miss?” The man’s eyes were downcast, and he smoothed out the wrinkles in his white coat out of habit. 

 

Negan spoke up before you could, “Carson! Been a while.” Your new leader clapped his palm over the doctor’s shoulder, a normally friendly gesture that made the older man shudder visibly. 

 

“Our friend here was a nurse before the world went to shit. Figured this would be the best place for her.” 

 

Carson nodded, seeming enthusiastic at the idea. “It would be wonderful to have more help in the infirmary.”

 

“Perfect.” Negan moved toward the exit, prepared to leave you with the doctor. “Laura will still be escorting you to meals, breaks, showers, and back to your room.” 

 

And with one final smirk, he was gone. 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I just started writing this with little to no direction. Inspired lightly by the song by Wye Oak. Ideas, suggestions, and comments are always welcome.


End file.
